20 years ago today – Day 324

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Tuesday, January 21st – Pushkar

The morning is magical in the golden glow of the desert. The temperature is perfect outside and the whole environment - the town, the lake, the Thar Desert, our hotel - is peaceful and idyllic. I am showered and dressed first so I head to breakfast downstairs while Frank is showering. I promised David, the young Vancouverite, that I would meet him for breakfast in the hotel restaurant at 8 am. I am already 15 minutes late. When I get down there, he is in line-up to get his banana porridge.

"Oh good, I'm not too late," I say to him, but he looks upset. "Well, I was here right at eight," he says, "and I have lined up once before. I sat down at the picnic table to start without you and suddenly this big male monkey stuck his head up from under the far side of the table and glared at me fiercely. Then he reached out and snatched the bananas off the top of my porridge with his dirty fingers that he has probably just used to pick his ass with."

I can't help laughing, and suggest it will be a good story to tell back home. I offer to sit across from him and help ward the primates off. Because this is a sacred pilgrimage town, a "tirtha" in Hindu, no animals are allowed to be injured. The smarter ones like the local apes have figured this out long ago and take full advantage of it. I can't even get eggs for breakfast here because animal products of any kind are not allowed to be served.

Frank and I decide to go for another walk to check out the souvenir shops along the main drag. As we are leaving the hotel we see one of the hotel managers chasing a group of monkeys who are scampering along the edge of the roof. They have probably been up to some mischief. He is threatening to swat them with his broom. They keep out of reach, screeching back at him and occasionally tossing something at him in retaliation.

We wander through several shops, looking at clothing, postcards and small carvings. I buy myself a small teak elephant and some Rajasthani pants with patterned cuffs decorated with pieces of mirror. I also pick up hopefully the last supply of postcards I will need. Every week I have been sending a postcard to a different member of my department at work at the City of Toronto and of course to most of my friends again and again, more than two hundred during my trip, although I have only received maybe two dozen back. I sit in a sidewalk café and fill out a few more over the next hour.

When in comes time for lunch I am on my own. I stop at one of the restaurants along the strip. It is comfortably dark and cool. As I am sitting waiting for my meal to arrive a monkey pushes the back door open gently and sits there, ever so politely, waiting for the restaurateur to notice her. He picks up a tomato and tosses it past her. When she goes to retrieve it he closes the door again. "I don't mind giving them something when they are polite about it," he comments to me.

After lunch, I walk around Pushkar Lake. On the far side, I decide to climb Ratnagiri Hill that houses the Savitri Temple on its top, which offers the wife of Brahma. There are only a small handful of temples to Brahma in the world, the main one being in Pushkar, which is why it is known as Dham Raj, the king of Hindu pilgrimage sites. The hill is more than 200 m high as is about four kilometres from my hotel. I don't climb all the way to the temple but make it most of the way there, far enough to get a good photo. The town looks so new from this height. The guide book says it is one of the oldest settlements in India, but the Muslims destroyed it completely during their conquests so the present buildings are not very old compared to many other places.

I stroll back down the hill and make my way back to the hotel to shower before dinner. Frank is on the patio, relaxing in the sun. He says he has enjoyed the day immensely but there isn't much to do here. One day is enough. Tomorrow we will continue are ride to the south to see the Jain temple at Ranakpur and the city of Udaipur. There is so much to squeeze in before I fly back to Canada in 23 days.


PHOTO 1: Langur monkeys in Pushkar
PHOTO 2: Pushkar, from across the lake
PHOTO 3: from Ratnagiri Hill, the best view

20 years ago today – Day 323

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Monday, January 20th – Parbatsar to Pushkar, 16,653 km

Having gone to bed around 9pm last night, I am up and fully rested at sunrise this morning. The Jain priest stops by our tent and summons us to join him on his morning walk. I am not sure where he will be leading me but I am on my own. Frank has found another broken spoke and is silently fuming while taking his rear wheel off. I leave him to do what he needs to do and I follow the priest silently. He leads me along scarcely visible trails that follow the edges of fields and through small thickets. This must be what much of India is like, small trails through rural fields linking close-knot villages. The priest carries with him a small tin pail on a handle.

He is making his rounds to the faithful, offering his services and collection yogurt in his pail as his reward. He stops at a mechanic's shop and at a couple merchants, then at a farmer's house before returning to his temple. Each of the followers he visits eyes me with curiosity and surprise. My presence makes the priest's visit more interesting. I am not sure if he is bringing me along to show me a slice of Indian life or for the added prestige of having a foreign visitor gives him. Whatever the reason, I appreciate participating in his routine.

When we return, I find that Frank has finished fixing his bike and has broken down and packed the tent. He has his camera out and uses mime to offer to take a photograph of the priest on the outdoor meditation veranda of the temple. A few of the boys from yesterday have dropped by and watch the process with delight. The priest poses in a lotus position as though he is really meditating, but he is at the wrong angle for the light. Frank asks the boys if it is all right to interrupt him to suggest he move, wanting not to offend him, but the priest is more than willing to have the best shot possible. The photo shoot serves his vanity.

We thank him for his kindness and he offers a blessing for our travels through the translation services of the boys. We say our goodbyes and leave Parbatsar, following Hwy 7 southwest through the villages of Rupangarh and Sursura, and then south to the city of Kishangarh. It is 1 pm when we arrive in Kishangarh so we here stop for lunch. Kishangarh isn't very large, perhaps 15,000 people, but has a huge fortification. Rajasthan was constantly divided and almost always in a state of war so all major towns have serious fortifications. We don't have time to visit them all.

It is slightly more than an hour's ride to Ajmer, the major town of this region of Rajasthan. Like Kishangarh, it is situated on a pretty lake, with bathing ghats for religious cleansings. There is a lovely Red Fort and a bustling market. I am sure I could find enough to do to spend a day in every larger town we have passed though because there is so much to see. But both of us are anxious to get to Pushkar so we move on after a quick tour of the city.


As we are leaving we witness and a silly piece of drama on the street. One driver cuts off another and horns start blaring. Both drivers get out and have a heated argument over who was in the wrong. Suddenly, James, the impatient, hot-tempered, bossy Brit we met at the tourist camp in New Delhi and again in the youth hostel in Jaipur, is right in the middle of it on his bicycle blowing a gasket. He's screaming at the drivers at the top of his lungs, telling them to stop acting like idiots and tying up traffic. His reaction is totally out of proportion and unnecessary, and embarrassing to me as a Western visitor. The two drivers who were arguing stare at him is disbelief, look back at each other and break out laughing. All the onlookers are watching James, not the drivers, so he rides away in an angry huff. I feel relieved that he hasn't seen or spoken to us.

Pushkar is maybe 8 km from Ajmer as the crow flies but a large ridge of the Aravali Mountains stands between them. It requires us to use a 25 km route that goes around the north end of the ridge. We get lost outside the city at a T-intersection, about half of the way there, not knowing which way to turn to get to Pushkar. Frank leaves me holding his bike while he goes into a store to ask directions. While I am standing there, a heavy set, shirtless man comes out onto his second floor balcony in a house across the road. He stands with his arms braced at the railing like he enjoying the morning air, but then he bends over and starts puking onto the ground below. A dog sees this and runs over to lap it up. The man heaves again, totally covering the head and back of the dog in puke. The dog does not react other than to keep gulping down the puke with zeal.

Frank returns a few seconds later, while I am still queasy from the scene across the street. "We turn left," he informs me. I don't want to talk about what I have seen so I say nothing.

I am thankful for the ridge of mountains between Ajmer and Pushkar. The extra effort to get there increases our anticipation and it sets Pushkar apart in a world of its own. It is quaint town of under 10,000, set around the northern perimeter of a small circular lake. Being a pilgrimage site and the location of one of the largest annual camel fairs in India, Pushkar is full of small hotels and inns. It has the charm of Sagres in Portugal, Goreme in Turkey or Provincetown in Massachusetts, a town built for and its economy based on travelers. Unlike most Indian cities, it is clean and neat, almost pristine. There are dozens of sacred bathing ghats along the edges of the lake, and the buildings are mostly painted white, adding to the illusion of purity. The open Thar Desert to the west comes right up to its door and seems to stretch on forever.

The main street follows the shoreline behind the row of buildings that front onto the lake. We find a pleasant hotel with about forty rooms along here. There are no Hindu religious holidays on at present, or the famous camel fair that runs through November and December, so there are plenty of available rooms. The guests are mostly Western travelers. Frank and I take a walk after our shower. We follow the main street to its end a kilometre later. Most of the town is stretched out on this street so we have seen it all in twenty minutes. From the end of the street where we can see the town wrapping the lake, the sunset looks lovely glowing on the surface of the lake and on the white walls of the buildings.

I meet some of the travelers in our hotel at dinner in the hotel's dining room, which also has a restive outdoor patio with picnic tables. I spend most of the dinner chatting with a tall, handsome youth from Vancouver, named David. He is charming and attractive, full of youthful energy and attitudes. It occurs to me that I am lonely for intimate contact. Due to illness, depression or sharing rooms with Frank and other straights, I haven't masturbated since I was in Iran, about 10 weeks ago. I haven't ever gone anywhere nearly as long since I discovered the magic of beating off when I was a teenager. Gandhi stopped having sex or masturbating when he was 37. That is a comforting thought!


PHOTO 1: Jain priest is a praying pose
PHOTO 2: school children in marching exercise
PHOTO 3: Kishangarh Fort
PHOTO 4: Red Fort in Ajmer
PHOTO 5: bathing ghats on Anasangar Lake, Ajmer
PHOTO 6: Mansingh Palace, Ajmer

20 years ago today – Day 322

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Sunday, January 19th – Bhaisala to Parbatsar, 16,592 km

It is a day like yesterday, mild, mostly sunny, but it is windier than it was yesterday morning. The wind is coming from the west so for most of the day it will be against us. Frank spends the first half hour after our breakfast fixing the broken spoke in his rear wheel, the fifth broken spoke since entering India. I haven't had even one broken spoke in more that 16,500 km, so there is definitely something wrong with his wheel. We just haven't figured out what it is.

The wind is annoying once we are on the road, but I have dealt with worse many times over. We are following State Hwy 2 northwest through an increasingly drier landscapes. There aren't many farms here. There aren't any rivers or sources of water either. The wind and the dust dry us out faster so we are careful to fill up our water bottles at every opportunity. The villages are sometimes half an hour apart.

In spite of the persistent broken spokes, Frank is in an excellent mood. He is enjoying the desert and seeing the camels and other attractions. He stops to take pictures from time to time. I appreciate riding with him as his mood is infectious. A few kilometres past our first town, Lohrana, I have a flat tire. Deserts come with thorns and they can lead to flat tires. It is my sixth flat since Portugal. A woman gathering sticks for fuel stops out of curiosity while I am changing my tire. Frank takes her picture. This delights her.

After an hour of cycling, not counting the time to fix my flat, the road bends to the west and passes close to the north end of Sambhar Lake, a large salt lake. We have been riding about five kilometres east of it since Bhatipura, but because the terrain has been so flat we have caught only the briefest glimpses of it. Now we come within half a kilometre of it. The road climbs some low hills so we have a better view of it. Other than being large, it is not interesting.

Eventually we move out of view of the lake, continuing west. We stop for lunch when reach Kansera, sitting on the side of the road to eat the food we bought at a restaurant stall in the town. It is getting warm now in the afternoon, warmer enough to make us sweat while we are sitting here taking in the sun. The wind at least keeps us dry while we are moving.

We pass through the village of Mithari on our way west. When we reach the junction with Hwy 2B we turn south, following a valley with ridges of rocky hills on either side. We are headed directly towards tomorrow night's destination, Pushkar, a sacred pilgrimage site of the Hindus, known as a "dham". Our guide book highly recommends Pushkar as one of the most important sites in all of Rajasthan, but we won't reach it today.

After another 30 km, the highway splits into two directions, south-west and south-east, at the village of Parbatsar. We can't see a hotel in the village, so we stop a teenage boy and ask him is there is a place to stay nearby. He leads to a Jain temple half a kilometre outside the town. On the way, several of his friends notice he is assisting us and come to join us and introduces us to the priest. The priest is wearing orange robes and has a shaved head. He's a bit shorter and probably in his early 40s. He welcomes us warmly, although he speaks no English. The boy translates for us.

The priest lives in the temple and he invites us in. Ignorantly, Frank and I try to enter with our shoes on and that causes gasps and exclamations from the boys. We quickly correct our mistake and apologize and everyone laughs it off. The priest tells them that we can set up our tent in the yard of the temple, which will be under his protection. The yard is surrounded by a shoulder-high, metre-thick hedge of a thorny bramble, more ominous that a coil of barbed wire. The boys want us to take a picture of them with the priest in his praying gazebo, so we do this first before the light in the sky dims too much. Several of the villagers have arrived by this point to be part of the photo shoot.

A couple of the families bring cooked potatoes and other vegetables for our dinner while we are setting up the tent. We are really impressed by their kindness. It is dark and the boys and their families need to get home, which leaves us alone with the priest. There is a communication barrier between us so he bids us good night and we retire to the tent to read and rest up for tomorrow.


PHOTO 1: woman, bull & lake, typical scene
PHOTO 2: Indian woman carrying supplies
PHOTO 3: me taking a rest
PHOTO 4: Rajasthani with saffron turban
PHOTO 5: rural Jain temple
PHOTO 6: photo op at temple
PHOTO 7: Rajasthani sunset

20 years ago today – Day 321

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Saturday, January 18th – Jaipur to Bhaisala, 16,522 km

Once we have had breakfast at the youth hostel, Frank and I load up our bikes and head out of town. It is perfect cycling day, pleasantly warm with only a slight breeze and mostly clear skies. The broad avenue in front of the Hawa Mahal and the City Palace, Nirwan Marg, becomes Kalwar Road and Hwy 11 as it leads us west out of the city. Within ten kilometres farmlands appear on either side of the road, and in the distance beyond them, low rolling hills covered in scrub or uncultivated grasslands. It is an arid landscape. The traffic is still quite heavy here for the first few kilometres, until we are well beyond the city.

An hour west of Jaipur, as the bicycle flies, we come to the village of Kalwad, which has a ranch-style palace in white stone. I take a shot of it but we don't go in. We only pause here five minutes before continuing on. The highway continues by the villages of Pachar and Laipura and through the village of Bassi Naaga. Forty minutes later, the highway makes a 90-degree turn north at the town of Jobner.

Jobner has a busy street market where we buy our lunch. Our bicycles, loaded with gear attract the attention of several youths and men who gather around us. They each try to play with my gear shifts, not knowing that changing the speed while I am not moving may cause the chain to come off when I start to ride again. Indians do not have the same respect of personal space that Westerners do. We would not think of reaching over and fiddling with someone else's equipment without asking, but no one here ever asks. Frank is especially irritated by their behaviour and is more forceful in telling them to leave his bike alone.

Frank likes to take pictures. He snaps a few of the crowds and one of a proprietor in his shop, which is more like a moving crate with doors that open like an armoire. It is painted pink inside. The old merchant is selling various small trinkets and house wares. He is sitting cross-legged and poses as Frank shoots him. There's a mirror on the back wall and Frank catches his own reflection in the photo.

Frank also loves taking pictures of women. He catches a group of them of different ages coming back from the fields just outside the town. He is great at composing pictures and especially likes taking pictures of the people we meet, their colourful turbans and their camels with their decorative tassels and beads. The camels are adorned lavishly and carry themselves as though they are loved, like noble but stupid princes. The farmers here take great care of their personal appearance, waxing their beards and mustaches and wearing clean and colourful clothing. They are kind and humble too, never pasting on a false smile for a photograph.

There is a steep outcropping of rock that rises above the town. On top there is a temple called Jwala Maiya. It is a small temple and the hill is way too steep to negotiate with our loaded bicycles.

We leave the highway at Jobner to continue west on a small dirt road that leads through the villages of Deodi and Laakhan Pura. It's a long, dusty ride that lasts two hours before reach Hwy 2 at Bhatipura. The wind has picked up and is blowing a sandy wind in our faces so we decide to stop here for the night. Frank is also choked because he has another broken spoke on his rear wheel. He can't deal with it now so he says he will fix it first thing in the morning.

Bhatipura is a smaller town. It looks much like other Indian towns with rickshaws and livestock, but there are definitely more camels and goats. It has a couple small inns, and there are plenty of small stalls and restaurants for dinner. Rajasthanis in the streets are more colourful too, so the street scenes are more interesting. I much prefer Rajasthan over the lush green pastures of Haryana or Punjab for this reason, but it also much more attractive than the towns and cities of western Pakistan. We are well off the beaten path here. Western travelers and tourists keep to the better-known areas of this largely rural and mysterious country. The locals smile at up that are both welcoming and shy.


PHOTO 1: Kalwad Palace
PHOTO 2: shop in a crate, Jobner
PHOTO 3: Jawala Ji Mata temple in Jobner
PHOTO 4: women, girls coming home from work in the fields
PHOTO 5: goats and Rajasthani sky
PHOTO 6: man with a red turban
PHOTO 7: an 'elephant mount' with big steps in Bhatipura

20 years ago today – Day 320

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Friday, January 17th – Jaipur

It is a glorious morning, mildly warm and sunny, as we set off to tour the city after our breakfast in the hostel cafeteria. Out first destination is Jantar Mantar, in the heart of the city core. It is built as an observatory by Sawai Jai Singh II, the best of its kind in all India still in existence. UNESCO has classified it as a World Heritage Site. It is an outdoor site, certainly different than any other attraction I have seen. There are stairs leading up to nowhere, at the top of a large sundial, and various other astrological measurement devices. We can climb around and above them, but they are left unexplained, without plaques or diagrams, so it feels more like a playground than a museum.


Also downtown, we visit the Maharaja’s Palace (we don’t go inside) and the beautiful white marble Sgri Narayan Temple. Since everything in the city is relatively new – not more than 250 years old – it is generally in excellent condition.

The most spectacular attraction in the downtown is the Hawa Mahal, the official palace of Sawai Ujjawal Singh, built in 1799 to house his harem. Its fanciful pink five-floor façade resembles a beehive with bay windows. Its more than 950 small windows and lattice work that honeycomb the façade, allowed the women of the harem to look out over the street life of the city without being seen, who were under strict observance of “purdah”, the law forbidding them from being seen in public. The palace behind has inner courtyards and lots of rooftops to walk around on. It is quite magnificent.

After a quick lunch at a restaurant near the Hawa Mahal, Frank ride up to Amer Fort, the hilltop fortress we saw yesterday coming in from the north. On the way we stop to photo graph the Jal Mahal, a palace in the middle of Man Sagar Lake, which lies between the city and the fort. The palace takes up the whole island and appears to be floating on the lake itself. There is no apparent transportation out to it from this side, but we wouldn’t have time to visit it anyway.

It is a steep climb to the fortress. The fortifications we saw were not the main part of the fort. The main part faces onto small Maotha Lake. Inside it is massive, made of sandstone and marble and extending over four levels, each independently defensible, and leading up to the older Jaigarth Fort which it connects to through an underground tunnel. Frank and I scattered to explore the fortress on our own. The guide says it is also called the “Amber Fort” or “Amber Palace”, because of its colour and elegant design.

The afternoon has grown hazy and views from the fortress overlooking Jaipur to the south filter with smog. The sun is still setting early so Frank and I head back at
4:30, heading home from the north exit that leads around through the village of Amer below the fort. It leads back to the highway we used to enter Jaipur last night, so it is easy to find our way back. In fact, Jaipur is an especially easy city to find one’s way around it. It would be a nice Indian city to live in, if I wanted to live here.

We save money by having dinner at the hostel tonight. It is simple cafeteria fare and a chance to hang out with other travelers again. It will be our last chance for a few days. James has made a stink to the hostel management about our dorm’s squeaky door. They sent a man around with a can of grease. He attempts to pour the whole can over the hinge but James stops him, screaming at him for being so stupid. “Use a pencil or a stick to put just a little bit on at a time, you idiot!” he screams for all to hear. The worker is laughing at the scene he is making, and so are the rest of us. In the end, James decided to show him how to do it and ends up doing it himself. One requires a sense of humour to live here.


PHOTO 1: Jantar Mantar, stairway to nowhere
PHOTO 2: Jantar Mantar, sundial
PHOTO 3: Jantar Mantar, satellite dish?
PHOTO 4: Maharajah's Palace
PHOTO 5: Sgri Narayan Temple
PHOTO 6: front facade of the Hawa Mahal
PHOTO 7: from the rear walls of Hawa Mahal
PHOTO 8: Jal Mahal on Man Sagar Lake
PHOTO 9: entrance to Fort Amer/Amber
PHOTO 10: arches in Fort Amber
PHOTO 11: view of fortifications from Ft Amber
PHOTO 12: old gate near Fort Amber
PHOTO 13: view of Jaipur from Fort Amber

20 years ago today – Day 319

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Thursday, January 16th – Sariska to Jaipur, 16,440 km

Today we are leaving the tiger reserve and moving onto Jaipur, the Pink City, the capital and largest city of Rajasthan. It is one of the most fabled cities of India. It is a newer city. It wasn’t in existence much before the arrival of the British. It was founded by Maharaja Sawai Jai Singh II in 1727. It was a Hindu stronghold against the Mughals of Delhi and Agra. It is a must-see when visiting Rajasthan.

Our ride today is 100 km long. Within half an hour we are out of the park and at the northern end of Hwy 55, a quiet road that zigzags southward for the next hour and a half. We pass by a palm forest, the first I have seen since Spain, and some nearby wet areas where we see a couple of Sarus cranes.

At the village of Ajabgarh, the highway jogs west though a pass between to mountain ridges, and then turns south and west towards Jaipur. For the next hour and a half, the terrain is flat, more open and semi-arid. There are no interesting sights. At a small village called Andhi, we stop at a roadside restaurant for lunch.

It takes another two hours to arrive in Jaipur, passing through a short series of hill on the way and following the base of the ridge on which Fort Amer is built, the hill fort that was used as the capital of the Rajput Hindus before Jaipur was built. We see it on the crest as we are riding towards the ridge, but from the base of the ridge it is mostly invisible. I haven’t researched it yet so I make a mental note to find out what it is once we are settled in Jaipur.

It’s another 11 km to the city centre. It’s a big noisy city with hectic traffic but not as big or hectic as New Delhi. Besides all the rickshaws, I notice more carts and cows in the streets. The sun is sinking as we arrive so we focus on finding a place for the night. There is a youth hostel in Jaipur, a more traditional one than the tourist camp in New Delhi. It is a bit dirty and dingy, and there is only dorm room accommodation but we take it. There are hot showers, other European travelers and a safe garage for our bikes. The English backpackers, James and Patrick are here as well as a couple others we saw at the tourist camp in New Delhi. Everyone is using the same guide book so it is not surprising.


By the time we have washed and changed, there isn’t enough light to take any good pictures. We walk around the core of the city. The streets are wide and laid out in a planned fashion. It is quite alive and interesting looking but we are too hungry to walk for long. We search out a good restaurant that’s not too expensive and treat ourselves to a mice meal. This may be the last major city we see until Udaipur, so we enjoy our dinner out. Afterwards, we head back to the hostel. We have agreed to spend the entire day here tomorrow to see its many attractions, but tonight we just take it easy and chat with other travelers.

Two Koreans in our room have left the window open and now there are mosquitoes in our room. James has a fit and is shouting at them. They take off for a walk to be free of him. There is no curfew at the hostel so young people are coming and going at all hours, including long after we have gone to bed. They try to sneak back in quietly but the door to our dorm room squeaks horribly, like a coffin opening in a bad vampire movie. I am woken several times but I manage to fall asleep again every time.


PHOTO 1: palm forest near Sariska
PHOTO 2: Saurus cranes
PHOTO 3: Surajpole Gate, Jaipur
PHOTO 4: pausing with my bike to decide where to go
PHOTO 5: in Jaipur at sunset

20 years ago today – Day 318

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Wednesday, January 15th – Sariska

Frank and I would like to bicycle through the Tiger Reserve in the hopes of seeing the scenery and some of the wildlife here, which includes spotted leopards, jungle cats, striped hyenas, golden jackals, sambhars, spotted deer, antelopes, wild boars, several interesting birds as well as the Bengal tigers. After hearing Tigerman Edelman’s story last night of being charged by a tiger I am not sure this is a good idea, but we have seen locals riding on the narrow paved road through the park we assume it can’t be that dangerous. We are told at the hotel that we would need the permission of the park ranger, who is based in a ranger station half a kilometre from here. Once we have had our breakfast in the restaurant, Frank and I walk to the station.

The head ranger is a middle-aged man who could have stepped out of an Indian movie, the way he holds himself with an air of professionalism and importance. If anything, position is more important in India than it is in Britain. At least in Britain, one can change classes, albeit with great difficulty, but the caste system in India is more rigid and controlled completely by one’s birth. Still, being born into a caste cannot be taken for granted, I suppose, so one’s image must reflex his caste. The ranger is likely a Brahman, though I am not certain.

I thought it would be easy to convince him that since we have seen locals riding through the park we should be allowed to do so too, but he will not have it. The risk of having international visitors attacked by a tiger or something else to not worth it to him and he will not budge on denying us permission.

We walk around the vicinity of the lodge and the ranger station and catch a spotted deer crossing the road. My guide book speaks of “hideouts” where one might see a tiger drinking at a waterhole, so we ask Joel about them when we see him at lunch. He tells us the official “hides” have been removed but he knows a place where we can wait to see one. He has seen them come to drink from this place. He says they are most likely to come to drink near dusk and suggests we wait until about 5 pm if we want to see them.

We relax at the palace hotel for the afternoon, talking with a German couple who have been driving around Rajasthan. They are mostly interested in the standard tourist attractions and not in Indian life itself so we don’t learn much from them. They are astounded that Frank and I are traveling around India on our bicycles. They think it is too unsafe, even though they must have seen thousands of native cyclists commuting that way. We entertain them with stories of our adventures, together and apart, in a pointless effort to have them consider other options than car travel.

Tigerman Joel meets us on the patio of the hotel at 4:30 and leads us on a 20 minute walk to a local stream in the jungle. This is the tiger watch he mentioned. I do my best to walk quietly, not stepping on twigs or dry leaves, but it is pointless to try to walk through the jungle silently. Peacocks are the alarm system of the Indian jungles. They sit in the trees 15 m above our heads and scream hysterically once we are immediately below them. They fly a few metres ahead to get away from us and scream again as we catch up to them. Their screams could be heard by anyone a couple kilometres away, so I suppose tigers and leopards can probably hear them from much further away.

We sit on the hillside amongst the ferns, waiting and occasionally whispering. An hour passes without incident. Then we hear the screams of peacocks across the valley, gradually getting closer. Even the big cats with their silent padded paws are at the mercy of the peacocks’ warnings. The screams die away and we see nothing. Frank tires of waiting as the light fades. He leaves Joel and I and makes his way back to the hotel on his own.

Another half hour passes and the light is getting quite low. Joel says we should leave while we can still see our way back to the road, so we set off. We have waited until the last moment. It is completely dark by the time we reach the road but we are guided by the glow of the lights at the front of the hotel a kilometre away.

When we are only 300 m from the building Joel leads me through a shortcut through the scrub bushes to the side of the hotel. Only the lights of the hotel are visible. Everything else is a silhouette. Suddenly, about 10 m in front of us, something very large clears its throat. We freeze. My heart is in my throat. Tigerman reaches over and puts a finger to my lips. We stand there for what seems like an eternity, the lights and safety of the palace only 150 m away but not able to move.

Finally, Tigerman tugs my arm to follow him and we move, ever so gently, around the closest patch of scrub brush and towards the palace. We reach the side of the hotel and follow it around to the bright lights at the front before either of us speak.

“Was that a tiger?” I ask, barely able to contain myself. “Of course,” he replies. “He could see us. His cough was a warning not to come any closer.” He explained further that if a tiger stands facing you and staring you in the eye, he is not afraid or uncomfortable, but if he starts to turn this way and that he is uncomfortable and likely going to charge. Without seeing him Tigerman could not tell how the tiger was reacting. “Of course, if he had decided to attack it was already too late. We were way too close, just a leap and a half away by Tigerman’s estimate.


It was probably a jackal, is all that Frank says, when I get back to our room. If it was a tiger you’d already be dead. I am not sure, I say. It had an awfully big throat to make a cough that deep. He still dismisses it and doesn’t want to talk about it further, perhaps because he is jealous, but I can’t stop thinking about it. Perhaps the tiger was just coming around to view humans. Anyway, he saw me, but I didn’t see him. Adventure is highly over-rated. I don’t want to try again.


PHOTO 1: Sariska Tiger Reserve road
PHOTO 2: this deer has been spotted
PHOTO 3: me and Tigerman Edelson waiting and watching
PHOTO 4: Sariska Palace Hotel at night